


Possession

by IAmWhelmed



Category: Paranatural (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmWhelmed/pseuds/IAmWhelmed
Summary: A spirit takes control of Max’s mind and body for the day, and does something a little peculiar to distract Isaac when he gets too close to figuring it all out. Now, the two– or, more accurately– Isaac, deal(s) with the aftermath. After all, Max still remembers everything that happened, so why won’t he talk to Isaac about that… thing?





	Possession

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the link on my tumblr @ https://iamwhelmed.tumblr.com/post/188005581379/possession

So, he guessed they weren’t gonna talk about it.

They weren’t going to discuss the paranatural elephant in the room, or in this case, whatever Max was feeling about the situation, let alone how he felt.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t run into spirits that took over bodies before– Hijack being one particularly memorable example– it just usually didn’t take them so long to figure it out. Puppett (Puh-Pett, not puppet) had done an excellent job of masquerading as Max the whole day, made a few good snarky remarks here and there and pulled enough backflips out of awkward situations to genuinely fool Isabel and Ed and even Mister Spender… even Isaac.

He coughed into his hand, cheeks turning red as he glanced away.

That had all been earlier in the day, around noon and earlier, and Isaac had to say– the affects of Puppett still hadn’t entirely worn off… on him.

He had never been possessed by her.

Max, on the other hand, seemed just fine for being the sock on a spirit’s conniving hand, and everyone else– but Isaac– seemed happy about that.

“Is there a reason you won’t stop looking at me?”

“Wh-what? I-I’m not–!” Isaac twisted his head his the other direction, avoiding the heated, annoyed gaze Max sent in his direction. “Sh-shut up!” He said he remembered everything. He said that he was well aware of everything Puppett did with him under her control, and the sheer fact that he wasn’t fumbling over himself in Isaac’s company after what Puppett did, the fact that he was acting like things were perfectly normal between them, well…

That had to mean it was all Puppett.

If he had to guess, he would have thought her powers revolved around distant manipulation and astute observation, what with the way she clearly read him like she did.

Towards the end of third period, he’d started catching onto her, started seeing the magenta in Max’s blue eyes– and he’d looked into his eyes well enough to know there was never any trace of magenta. He bit down a whine, internally cringing at his own overdramatic, romantic behavior. He’d stared a little too long at him on their way passed each other to fourth period; that had to have been what clued her into him being clued into her– because it was at lunch time that she tried to distract him the only way she possibly could without attracting too much attention.

And Max acted like it never happened.

Isaac blew out of his nose sharply, digging his hands into his pockets, consciously falling a few steps behind Max, who seemed just as oblivious to his disappointment as he did earlier that day. Whatever, Fine. It didn’t happen. It didn’t count. He was stupid for hoping for anything else.

He raised one hand to his lips, tips of his fingers brushing against the skin, against the place he could still feel Max’s lips. He remembered the pressure, the way Max’s hand felt against the nook of his neck, the way they melded together, and how gently he’d been handled, like Max had been cautious in the act, and brave in the venture. He’d tasted like potato chips and off-brand soda, and even when he’d gone to pull away, Max followed him with another kiss, and another.

But that hadn’t been Max.

Isaac grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut as he raised his sleeve to his mouth and scrubbed the surface clean– red, swollen, skinned, and clean.

Max glanced back at him over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking in that way they always did when he was trying to keep himself from dropping to his knees in hysterical laughter. “Um, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure looks like something.”

Isaac couldn’t be mad at him, he guessed. Max had no reason to go “Hey! Remember that I kissed you today? Except it wasn’t me and I was under an evil, world-dominating spirit’s control? Yeah! This isn’t awkward!” It would, in all honesty, only serve to embarrass both of them. Why would he bring it up? Ya know, unless he wanted to clarify that he did actually like him like that… which apparently he didn’t. He sighed and shrugged, trying his best to be nonchalant. “Just… trying to get a bad taste out of my mouth.”

Max halted for a moment, eyes wide, lips in a thin line. Isaac turned around, pausing to let Max catch up with him, whenever that would be. “Umm?”

Max said nothing, just watched him with the same, insulted expression. He didn’t even move, and for a moment, Isaac had to look around and be sure he hadn’t walked into a spiritual cobweb or something of the sort. Was there something on the edge of attack? He glanced around– no, nothing. “Max?”

He seemed to blink, and shake himself out of his train of thought, grimace still etching wider, more prominently, across his face. “I-I’m fine. Just” he started walking again, eventually catching up, then passing Isaac. “Just had to take a moment to consider something… Hey Isaac?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you mad about what happened earlier or…?” He felt his face burn again, and he glanced away. Max sighed beside him. “… I thought so. Isaac, look–”

Before he knew what he was doing, he’d raised both hands up in defense, one corner of his skinned lips twitching. “It’s cool! I know! You were under Puppett’s control! It’s cool! We’re cool! Everything’s cool!”

Max watched him with the face he used to deliver his annoyingly deadpan jokes, eye unblinking, lips in a straight line. “Isaac.”

“Hey! It’s about time to wrap up afternoon patrol, don’t you think?” He twisted on his heel, miming shotguns in the direction of the clubroom. “Let’s mark this conversation down as settled, shall we?”

“Would you just–!” Max reached out and gripped him by the shoulders, and usually that might have stopped him in his tracks, but the earlier memory, the familiar pull of Max’s hand tugging him closer, made him fight– made him pull away because he couldn’t stand to be that breath-takingly close to his face again. “Stop! Hey!”

“Let! Go!”

“Just listen to me for a– Isaac!”

He froze, eyes falling to the floor because Max was just too, too much to look at right then. Max didn’t move, didn’t take a single chance that he’d go off running, and he was right not to, because getting away was the only thing on his mind right then. “Would you just sit still and have a conversation with me like a normal flipping person?”

“Sorry…”

“Look,” Max’s hands loosened at his shoulders, but moving wasn’t a risk he dare take. “I wasn’t in control of–”

“–your body, I know–”

“–Isaac, just let me finish–”

“– I get it, okay? You don’t have to explain–”

Max’s hands tightened around his shoulders.

“– Isaac, I’m trying to tell you–”

“– anything to me! I know you would never–”

“– OH FOR FLIP SAKE!”

Isaac jumped when Max kissed him again, body gravitating closer almost naturally as their lips melded for the second– maybe third or fourth– time that day. His eyes were wide, but Max’s were shut tight, brows furrowed, nose pressing into his uncomfortably as he grew even closer. It was less tender than the other kiss, and messier, but it was a kiss nevertheless, and Isaac melted in his hands.

Almost literally.

Blood rushed from his legs to his cheeks, leaving them pink and glowing as his knees buckled; he fell forward into Max, tips of his shoes turning inwards and brushing together and he lost control of his feet. His eyes didn’t quite close, but they were around halfway there by the time Max was pulling away. Much to his surprise, Max held him there, kept him upright, probably because he could tell he’d fall to the floor in a mess of feelings if he let him.

Max’s cheeks were red versus his pink, eyes wide, challenging him.

And then he realized he was waiting for him to say something.

Isaac popped up straight, hands pressing and pushing back against Max’s chest as he struggled to straighten himself out, but Max kept him close with a firm hand, eyes narrowing. He was shorter, dang it! He shouldn’t have been so intimidating! “I-I- wha–?”

Max’s eyes fell lidded, nose scrunching. “Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Y-you kissed me!”

“Yeah! And it was really me this time!” Max paused, face turning an even darker shade of red, closer to crimson than blood. Both of them, at this point, were red, gushing, messes of emotion, bordering on explosion as the silent seconds ticked by in what felt like excruciating minutes.

Isaac stuffed his face in his hands, chin to ears burning red hot and tingly. He felt like somebody hot turned the heater on in the middle of summer in a house he couldn’t leave. “I– bu– guh– why?”

Max’s snark face was back, and Isaac had never wanted to punch a deadpan expression before so much in his entire thirteen-year life. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“I mea– I mean I know why, I- I just don’t–!”

“Guess I broke the Isaac machine.”

“Max.”

“I’ll have to take my money elsewhere.”

“Max!”

“Seriously though, dude, you get it, right? I don’t have to say it?” Isaac nodded with no words because he couldn’t think of any good ones and his entire body felt like it was short-circuiting, and Max nodded right back. “Cool.”

Cool, indeed. Mister Spender called them back to the classroom soon after, signaling the end of the school day at long, painful last. Neither Isaac nor Max brought up Puppett again after that, but one wouldn’t say it was like it never happened. Isaac, for his part, was less angry a lot of the time, smiled more, even if it was just at Max. Max, who afterwards had taken to backhandedly flirting at off moments, side comments like “My eyes are here, but that poltergeist’s eyes are up there, Ginger Sprinkles” and, one time after Isaac caught him mid-fatal-fall with a storm cloud: “Really swept me off my feet this time, huh?”

They still snarked at each other (uh… Max still did most of that), and threw punches (Isaac was guilty of this one, though he felt guilty when the electricity his body naturally conjured what was meant to be a playful tap to the arm a more “shocking” punt across the schoolyard). Puppett was a memory, not exactly bittersweet but neither good nor bad. Isaac, somewhere along the way, had come to the conclusion that what they had was obvious, that Puppett had merely manipulated a variable that he and Max should have already acknowledged; Max, despite never speaking a word of it, seemed to have known that before Isaac had. There hadn’t been another kiss, but there had been wordless touches to shoulders and conversations they could leave unspoken if they just looked at each other.

He wasn’t sure what they were, if they were boyfriends or friends or just more-than-friends, but what was more than clear was this: Max belonged to Isaac; Isaac belonged to Max. What everybody had known long before Isaac did had become a simple truth. He was his, and the labels didn’t really mean anything– at least they didn’t have to yet.


End file.
